Mary's Brother
by Clerk Liu
Summary: The image of SH in Mary's mind


Chapter 1

When the doorbell rang for the third time, Mary, Dr. Watson's wife, was sitting in the chair and napping with an adventure novel in her hands. She tried to overcome her tiredness and fatigue, stand up, walked towards the door, and -thought- that if it was the third patient tonight, she had to send him/her to another walk-in clinic.

Mary walked to the hall and shot a glance at her face in the mirror, she noticed several more tiny wrinkles had appeared at her canthus after a long day, but it was not the right time to worry about her looking. After tied her messy hair behind, she then quickly opened the door.

An incredibly familiar sense of cigarette immediately caught her mind. The smell was like a unique name card, and she could yell out the owner's name of this card without hesitation.

"Mr. Holmes! What brings you here? " cried Mary.

Unexpected, the man standing at the door was Sherlock Holmes.

Although it was quite common to see this famous detective out of her door, Mrs. Watson was somewhat astonished in such a queer time. Moreover, she found that Mr. Holmes looked pale and abnormal. In her memory, this man was always confident, which made him look charming, but not only this day.

Sherlock Holmes stared at Mary primly for a while and then said with bitter smile: "Good evening, Mrs. Watson! I think I visit at an inappropriate moment, especially when Dr. Watson pays a home visit."

Mary smiled mildly, and then stood aside to let him come into the house.

"Ah, Mrs. Watson, it really doesn't matter that you let a weird smoker enter your house when your husband is out; especially for me, who is pretty good at appearing and disappearing unnoticed at all time, does it?" Joked Holmes.

"I hope not," answered Mary, "Well, John visited a patient who was so severely sick that could not even move out of his bed. The nurse has to go together with him." Mary intentionally overlooked his joke without a sense of humor, while taking a black bag from him.

When she just caught the bag, she nearly dropped it. Mary asked: "My lord, what is so heavy in it?" However, she did not hear an answer but a slight groan from Mr. Holmes.

"You got injured, Mr. Holmes?" Mary asked in a low voice, trying to conceal her shock. She turned her attention to find where Mr. Holmes got injured, and noticed his right hand which was wrapped with a white handkerchief. Plenty blood permeated out from the handkerchief.

He sighed and said "I was so careless that I fell off the road"

Mary listened to his lie and could not help laughing out, thinking that John was also used to make up various poor lies to conceal their dangerous activities. Then, she helped him to take off his coat and hang it on the clothes tree. Afterwards, she guided him to the doctor's office.

Sherlock Holmes followed in silence and entered the house, sitting in a chair and looking his right hand, without any idea to say what. He quickly thought that if it was Watson standing right in front, he wound light a cigarette, indolently curling up in the chair, and telling in silence how he fought with four tall mobs in the Fleet Street. However, Watson was certain to dramatically cry out in alarm while binding up the wound for him. Now, he felt that his arm was already too stiff to make any move. What was more, he could not feel any pain. He didn't know that whether it implied curing or farewell forever to violin and bottles on the chemical desk.

"You need to dress your wound again, Mr. Holmes." Mary said beyond doubt, standing in front of the doctor's workstation, and just looking like a nurse in the hospital.

Sherlock Holmes coughed unnaturally, lowering his head and staring at his injured right hand.

Mary smiled: "Don't worry! I will deal with it, but I'm not sure to act as good as a doctor."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders without care, just like what he showed to Watson habitually in the past. However, he embarrassed and raised himself slightly: "I'm sorry! Please forgive my disturbing you in such a late moment".

Mary answered with a mild smile. She lighted the house to the maximum extent, skillfully took out absorbent cotton and medical tweezers, and carefully unfastened the handkerchief pasted by blood. Fortunately, the wound was not every deep. Although two joints were still bleeding, she was confident to handle that – this was not the first time for Mary to act as a nurse in her husband's clinic. She skillfully treated the wound, and then wrapped it up with clean gauze.

"You fell off so heavily, Mr. Holmes," Mary ridiculed on purpose, handing over a cup of brandy.

Sherlock Holmes sipped the mellow wine, and frowned by spicy alcohol. At this moment, he got a glimpse of Mary who was standing in front of him, looking at him with her consistently kind eyes, as if she was waiting in patience for him to say some words.

He understood her at a stroke. Mrs. Watson probably never counted on Sherlock Holmes to enter her house without any trouble. Holmes would never visit her while passing by. He rejected their invitation for supper almost every time. Moreover, Sherlock Holmes would never extend greetings to them when they had a family reunion. There was only one reason for his showing up here. That was, he requested Watson to handle a case . At this moment, Mrs. Watson was incumbent on providing assistance to him when Watson was out.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?" Mary asked in a soft voice.

He hesitated for a while, standing up awkwardly and feeling for the first time that he disturbed calmness and peace of this warm British family. However, he was gratified by Mary's sincere sight. He chronically put his hands into his pocket, and wanted to take out a cigarette to keep his mind. Nevertheless, he stopped just when his hand touched the cigarette case. He looked over the neat room and recalled that Watson pretended to be helpless with bitter smile and tell him that he gave up smoking for Mary's health.

He turned around to find that Mary was still standing there in silence, looking at him sincerely.

"In fact," he determined and said slowly, "it doesn't matter, Mrs."

Mary opened her eyes widely.

"I just visit on my way home. as you know, to see my buddy Watson," he closed his eyes, and avoided to see her, "of course, dress up my wound by the way." He screamed in the heart, feeling that this lie was even sillier than "falling off".

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Since Watson is absent, I have to go back", he bowed to her slightly, and then quickly turned to the door.

"Mr. Holmes!" Mary followed him and yelled, an anxiety in her voice.

He quickly walked to the door, getting his coat and bag.

"It is unnecessary to tell Watson, Mrs. May you a good night", he didn't wait for Mary to utter a word, opened the door, and then got out very quickly.

Mary stood on the step at the door, looking his back passing across the street. She continuously tried to recall that what improper words just now made Sherlock Holmes act out of normal behavior. However, she suddenly got a peculiar feeling in the heart. She remembered that her husband often do a matter in an especially cold night. When he stood by the warm fireplace, he was always used to glance out of the window and then talk about the bachelordom life in the Baker Street as if nothing had happened. At that time, he definitely remembered his bosom friends who spent cold nights alone, imaging that he lighted the fireplace alone and spent his time in playing violin to disperse loneliness from chilliness. Now, Mary saw her uninvited guest standing in the street far away and waiting for a hackney coach. He had to put his coat and bag in his left hand, it was difficult for him to raise his right hand to wave toward carriages in the street – it seemed that his arm His arm was still in pain. Mary moved her feet spontaneously, but she didn't act according to her impulsive emotions. She forced herself to stay calm, turn to the room and then turn off the light.

Chapter 2

Mary looked out of the window through the curtain made by snow. Sherlock Holmes the called hackney coach, who was strenuous to get on the coach. Then, the coach drove towards the mist.

She was always quite definite about what to do, because he was rather familiar with that uninvited guest out of the door. Mary shook her head and laughed secretly. Just as once she heard that John told her in person, "Mary is too familiar with you." She knew that Sherlock Holmes could not be happier than maintaining his self-esteem. He would rather handle all dishonorable matters alone than receiving other's help - of course, John would be an exception occasionally.

Mary got up and walked to the living room. When she passed the mirror in the corridor and looked in it unconsciously, she could felt the strain on her face. She knew clearly now that her thought are enveloped by the familiar name. She breathed slightly, combed and flipped her hair, as if to get rid of some random thoughts.

Mary returned into the room, and added some charcoal to the fireplace. She remembered that she was so confused when she learned that she got involved in this couple of good partners. While in the face of Holmes's sharp eyes, she even got a sense of guilty in her mind. Therefore, she never minded a bit his calling off John in any time or occasions, and even the trouble which rolled up like a mat to the world.

Yes, when all this originated from that sense of guilty difficult to be detected. Mary memorized the feeling from. Holmes rejected our wedding on the excuse of handling a case…

As a lady grew in the boarding school, I never got so angry to someone, even the killer of my father. I was like a baby waiting for the baptism on expectation of the late groomsman. Beyond my expectation the punisher of the killer came to break the ceremony with a mess appearance. All of the guests turned silent when a joker caught their male title role out the theater.

The happiest day in my life just left a word "Sorry". Absolutely I fired to my no promised husband when he went back. I was disappointed about the life that there was another home in Baker Street. I bolted him out with the decision of me or "Mrs. Holmes". On the other side of the door my body was tethered in the sofa without any possible to get off, because my whole power was taken to say the internal feeling. It was not a kidding, and I was really afraid of no position for me. The result was the same as I guessed before asking. There was a quarrel between the partners once again. When I sat in the carriage to the honeymoon trip, I heard the voice of "Moriarty was dead! Goodbye!" as the full point. This was the only time Sherlock Holmes failing on persuasion to his "hand".

The rest story was well known. The great detective stopped the murder to us from Pr. Moriarty's group and defeated him with Watson. I was the unnoticed role behind the hero pairs yet. In the confusion works of cleaning up the tail, even my lovely Mr. Watson forgot a woman who lost her project of the most valuable moment in life through the justice fighting. We jumped to the living from the spending.

"Mr. Holmes! What brings you here? " cried Mrs. Watson on the first day without the government officials.

"Ehhhh…Best wishes to you." The tongue of Mr. Holmes tied a knot, "I think, maybe, eh, I should not bother you."

The flower was full in bloom on my face, when he wanted to leave just after several seconds meeting. The suit he dressed looked funny and like a waiter. What the blame I could have on him. His clumsy etiquette swept my tiring from the events.

Sitting besides the fireplace, he complained to the police and recorder with his previous roommate relaxed. I was just listened beside quietly.

"How about you, my lady" He asked me abruptly.

I shrugged as the answer. Because the question changed to what did he do made me blame? His limpid eyes reflected my idea, no.

We had the dinner together as a family's party. But his figure kept constant friction each other stealthily, except speaking his crazy and strange topic. I found that is the lifestyle I was seeking. The peace was like an old romantic poem. However the peace need the self-respect gentleman and his assistant protected, the dream of my lovers brought me happier than my enjoyment. That was the real family.

Mary turned on the light, sat down beside the desk, and wrote some words in a piece of paper. She put the piece of paper on the novel which Mary just read exactly the kept reading one. She had no idea whether Mr. Watson have known the secret. In fact, she run across to know that this is Sherlock Holmes's favorite book, a detective novel but with an impressive depiction of the character psychology. She can see the shadow of the familiar man from the book. She might not hear, but must know that Holmes will put the book in the head of a bed, a will read before go to sleep. She felt faintly, the dull life with all sorts of twists and turns of the men and women protagonists in the book, is her way in the future.

Again and again picked up the book and put down the book, again and again to face the very familiar man, the knight of middle ages with the mask named "logic". As his words," Where there is no imagination, there is no horror."

She was quite clear that now she was no longer afraid of Holmes's sharp eyes or astonished by his eccentric temper. She could accept all this in calm with smile from the heart, just the same as accepting her brothers.

Mary pulled the locker open and took the chocking but expensive tobaccos out. The details must be ignored and they might reduce the excuse the smart brain accepting cocaine. In her education, all the drugsters were criminal and need to be forced abandon. However it was different situation for having the friend like a stone.

She didn't know since when she already got used to care for this remarkable but eccentric detective. She would discuss with John about what present for Holmes one week before Christmas; she would pick out a roast chicken with John in the busy market and then send it to Holmes for dinner; and she would even try to find a lady as wise as fair for Holmes together with John (even through it ended with failure every time). She found that she was happy to regard Sherlock Holmes as a member of her family – a brother or a relative, although he refused her invitation for dinner every time and avoided to visit during happy reunion of her family. John ever attempted to blame Holmes for this, but he was stopped by her. Maybe in this world, only she could outguess reasons concealed in these courtesy rejections.

Marry went to the bed. In the dark winter night, she blessed safe and sound same as she had done several times ever. The world needed a firm hero, the hero needed a reliable helper, and there were also a silent prayer to be needed. She kept breathe steady to make John think she was asleep without worry when he was back.

Soft lamplight reflected the last row of words in the piece of paper. "Our brother came over. His right arm was injured, without any word. Don't forget to pay him a visit", in beautiful a handwriting.


End file.
